


The Sweeter Your Surrender

by Anonymous



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Extremely Dubious Consent, Fingering, Hair Pulling, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Mind Rape, Mind Sex, Praise Kink, Rape/Non-con Elements, Trans Jon, Trans Male Character, touch starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:55:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24473116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: While Jon fights to keep his humanity, Elias gives him a reason to let go.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 131
Collections: The Rusty Quill Thirst Collection





	The Sweeter Your Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my wonderful RP partner for their help with inspiration, beta reading, and editing. It's always a delight to torment the Archivist with you.

Jon sits in his office with his head in his hands, fighting to ignore the headache pounding at his temples. His hands move to cover his eyes, the dim light in his office only making the pain worse. The only noise in his office is the ticking of the clock on the wall, but even that amount of noise is overwhelming. He isn’t sure if he is hungry for a statement, or for regular food, as the taste had become rather bland. As so many things did these days, it reminded him that he was becoming more monster than human. 

As time goes on, the more difficult it becomes to hold on to what remains of his humanity. His fumbling attempts simply fray the edges until it threatens to fall apart in his hands. It’s a bloody difficult and thankless task. He began to wonder - what was the point of fighting so hard to keep the remains of his humanity when the other members of the Archives look at him with contempt no matter what he does, assuming that he was already a monster? The reasons to hold on slip through his fingers, and really, it might be better to not to fight anymore. If he can’t come up with reasons to hold on before it slips from him fully, what was the  _ point _ ?

“Focus, Jon,” he pleads with himself. He exhales, trying to stay focused, to not drift away. He frantically clutches at memories of the person he hopes he still is.

_ His grandmother cooking naan in the kitchen, laughing with Georgie on the sofa, his surprise birthday party, Tim smiling at him at the Christmas party.  _

The thoughts turn sour around the edges. He can half hear Elias’s voice in his head, tempting him away from his fight.  _ “You’ve suffered so much rejection, but it doesn’t have to be like that anymore.” _

The memories that once seemed positive warp and twist into a truth that he did not want to admit to himself. 

_ His grandmother's smile never seemed to reach her eyes when she looked at him. The stoic expression Georgie uses to hide her pain directed at him as Jon hands over the keys to the flat they shared. Tim snogging Rachel in accounts in a secluded corner of the same party. _

The memories, brought forth unwillingly to use against him, hammer his defenses. It doesn’t matter now, with the dam broken they don’t stop and Jon begins to supply them himself.

_ Looking down upon his grandmother who was more peaceful in death than she ever looked raising him. Georgie with disappointment and hurt coloring her voice as she asks him not to bring any more statements into the flat. Tim, refusing to use his name after a fight, calling him Archivist if he acknowledged him at all. Viewing him as the monster he already knew deep down that he was. _

Even before setting down this path he’s only ever hurt those he cared about. It would only get worse for them if he kept fighting. Better for everyone to just give in and become the Archivist Elias wants him to be. 

Gradually he notices Elias’ pride settle warm around him, as comforting as a woolen blanket. He remembers how  _ good _ it feels to use his powers as they’ve gotten stronger, the warmth that filled him when he did something  _ right _ . “ _ A reward,” _ Elias’ voice intones in the back of his head, accompanied by the sense of safety and protection. Jon is aware, at that moment, that he is cared for.

_ Watched over. _

Jon shakes his head and reaches up to tug on his hair. An old habit, grounding himself through the pain. He’d broken himself of it years ago but more often of late he’s fallen back on old comforts. Before he can, Jon is flooded with the sensation of soothing hands petting through his hair. He shivers while whispered words of pride and praise float around the edge of his hearing. 

“Stop.” Jon forces out through gritted teeth. He shakes his head but the presence persists, undeterred by his demand. 

_ -gentle lips brush against his closed eyelids- _

“Stop!”

_ -knuckles brush against his jaw, a hand coming to rest warm and firm against the side of his neck, a whispered breath against his ear- _

_ “Relax, Jon. Enjoy it.”  _

Jon jumps at Elias’s voice. It comes through so clearly he might as well be in the room with him. Vivid sense memories are drawn up and amplified to be used against him. Lord help him, he’s been lonely and touch starved for so long he  _ is _ starting to enjoy it. “Christ,” he whispers, exhaling.

“Exit my mind,” Jon shoves what power he can behind his words, ignoring the tremor in his voice. “There is nothing for you here.” 

_ -once gentile fingers tangled in his hair turn harsh and pull, the breath against his ear becomes the wet heat of a mouth nipping at his earlobe to draw it in deeper- _

Jon lets out a gasp and stands from his desk with shaky legs. If Elias refused to stop, then perhaps there was a way to  _ force _ him to. His hands groped on his desk, picking up the first statement that he came across that thrummed with power, with knowledge. As he felt the beginnings of Elias’ power, the tell-tale gooseflesh rising on his arms, the statement he collected crumples in his hands. “I told you to stop.”

_ -nails rake down his scalp, the pad of a thumb dragging along his lower lip, the hot breath of a single word in his ear- _

_ “No.”  _

It takes longer than he would like to catch his breath and respond. “I’ll burn these. Starting with the… the old ones. A letter f-from ...Jonah Magnus.”

_ -another sharp tug of his hair, harder this time, teeth against his neck, a hand at his throat, a challenge, a dare, a  _ **_threat_ ** _ - _

Jon shuts his eyes for a moment to focus past the assault of phantom sensations. The idea of burning a statement, of destroying any of the knowledge gathered in the Archives, is such an anathema… Can he even follow up on that threat? Probably not, with the way his hands are shaking and the promised pain he Knows will come. 

He tries another tack and smooths out the crushed statement as best he can. Perhaps if he feeds their god, Elias will be satisfied enough to leave him be. Behind him the soft click of the tape recorder sounds nearly eager. 

“S-statement of Barnabas Bennett regarding--” 

_ -the threat of teeth eases to scrape slowly down his throat and rests along his clavicle, a swell of pride washes over him as clever mouth and tongue work across the skin there, the hand at his throat soothes and presses gently over his voice box to better feel the vibrations of the Archivist’s voice- _

"Regarding....r-regarding." Jon lets out a soft sigh but the words still come anyway. "A l-letter..."

_ -the hand gentles in his hair, scratching softly at the back of his neck, the kisses return, longing and slow with the barest hint of teeth- _

_ "Go on, Jon. Read to me" _

Jon exhales shakily, the touch odd because he can't lean into something that isn’t really there even as gooseflesh prickles in its wake. He couldn't stop if he wanted to. "M-my dearest Jonah..."

_ -lips against his skin pull into a smile, a pleased shiver passes over him, the thumb continues stroking along his throat, nails dragging through the base of his scalp to toy with the shorter hair- _

"Y-you must help me, J-Jonah." Jon lets out a sigh, trying not to crumple the paper as shivers run up his spine.

- _ the hand leaves his throat to tease along his chest, running fingers across all his most sensitive places, the teeth are back as the hand dips lower, kisses growing in intensity and hunger with each word that falls from the Archivist’s lips- _

The phantom of Elias in his mind continues to tease him as he reads, encouraging as Jon’s body arches against the touch. He has to fight back a whine when he can’t find the friction he seeks. The hands aren’t really there despite how maddeningly real they feel as they toy with his body. He shifts in his seat as he approaches the statement’s end. 

"If anyone knows of what might break me from this dreadful place, it is you. I know that what is done by those I cannot see might be felt here - I have found glasses broken and pages torn that were not so the night before."

_ -the phantom hand fists in his hair and tugs sharply back exposing more of his throat for lips, teeth, and tongue to play across. Fingers teasing below his waistband finally press inwards, a harsh stroke against his cock- _

Jon inhales sharply and spreads his legs as much as his desk allows. 

_ -fingers push deeper and twitch inside him, a low chuckle, deep and liquid spills over him- _

_ “You're going to come around my hand and I won't have even laid a finger on you.” _

He can’t hold back a gasp as he crumples, falling forward against his desk. He is panting now, body tightening around the odd intrusion he knows isn’t really there even as he is forced to finish the statement.

"P-please, Jonah, if you have any compassion within your heart... you will not... leave me in this place..."

_ -fingers, impossible to tell how many, fill him while a thumb teases circles over the head of his cock. The hand tightens in his hair, a steady pull, grounding him. Hot breath in his ear-  _

_ "My Archivist," his voice swells with pride and possession. "Come for me." _

A soft sound escapes Jon, not quite a moan, their God not allowing him breath for more. He shivers and manages to pant out: "Y-your fa....faithful servant...Barna...bas..." 

The gasp building in his chest finally escapes releasing Jon to come harder than he's ever done in his life. Exhausted, he lets his sweaty forehead fall against his desk. 

"S...statement....statement ends...."

_ -fingers pet against him through his aftershocks, with a parting squeeze to his cock they slowly withdraw, hands pet through his hair, gentle scratches along his scalp, lips and tongue soothe across the places red blossoms won't ever form into bruises, the warmth of a body rests against his back to protect him in his afterglow- _

"W...what was the...point..." Jon tries to get more out but can't catch his breath for long enough to say more.

_ "A reward," _

_ -a hand rests on the back of his neck, another tips his chin up and to the side- _

_ "for serving our master."  _

_ -a gentle kiss placed on the hinge of his jaw- _

"What are you getting out of this?" Jon demands.  ~~The Archivist compels~~.

_ "You." _

_ -praise, pride, and possession swell to almost a physical presence around him, threatening to carry him away, to drown him- _

"S-stop."

_ "My Archivist, my perfect Archivist." _

_ -teeth catch against his lower lip, holding it in place for a tongue to push against it and then release, a chaste kiss at the corner of his mouth- _

Jon catches himself leaning in, as if to kiss back. He tries to move his face away, unable to fight what he can’t see but his body believes to be there. “Elias!” The name comes out garbled, nearly swallowed by the loud, irritated sound accompanying it. 

_ "The more you fight, the sweeter your surrender." _

_ -hands rest on his throat long enough to make a point, they run up to cradle his jaw, a full kiss presses against his lips, tongue teasing them open to slip inside- _

"I-I've already...what are you-- mmf!"

_ -a parting bite to his lip- _

Suddenly all the sensation is gone, leaving him alone and bereft in his office. The sound of the recorder running his only companion.

"W...what?"

Jon pants and looks around in confusion. He tells himself he doesn’t miss it as he adjusts himself in his chair. The oversensitivity is maddening. He’s still coming down from his orgasm yet he’s  _ aching _ for a real hand on his cock. Jon runs his hand through his hair and can’t help but wonder how much better it could be if Elias was actually in the room with him. 


End file.
